


Between the Lines

by ForAllLove



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Acceptance, Becoming established, Bofur is the best, Craic-Ship, Disgustingly fluffy, Fluff, Happiness everywhere, Homecoming, I love you Bofur, Interracial Relationship, Interspecies, Literacy, M/M, Reading, Romance, Sharing secrets, Trust, You too Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForAllLove/pseuds/ForAllLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has followed Bofur There and Back Again; now, it is his turn to lead Bofur on a grand adventure — into the world of books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further adventures in style experiments, prompted by [Leaper182](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182).

“Write to me,” Bilbo whispers into Bofur’s neck, “please?”

“I will.”

Thirteen months later, Bofur knocks on Bag End’s door, unannounced.

* * *

“Read it to me again?”

Bilbo giggles and stretches. “But you’ve heard it already.”

“I like to hear your voice,” Bofur sing-songs, poking him in the side with the book.

“Oh, read it to yourself,” he teases, though it’s muffled by a yawn. “You’ve worn me out.” He snuggles down into the pillows.

* * *

“All of them?”

Bofur’s nose is going pink. “All of them.”

“I can’t believe you kept them,” Bilbo says as he turns his letters over in his hands.

“Well…” Bofur smiles and plucks the little packet from his grasp. “You wrote them.”

It’s hardly set aside before Bilbo kisses him quite thoroughly.

* * *

“How do you do that?”

Bilbo’s pen drips as he blinks. “What?”

“Write like that. Fast. Prettily.” Bofur scuffs his bare toes against the study doorframe.

Ignoring the blot, Bilbo sets down the pen and crosses to him. “It’s just telling a story, only on paper. With the tales you tell, I daresay you’d do a fine job of it.”

“No, lad,” Bofur says, his hands gentle in Bilbo’s hair, “I don’t think I would.”

Bilbo frowns against his wrist.

* * *

“Not even a word?”

“Some words,” Bofur mumbles, picking at a nick in the table.

Bilbo’s heart aches — all of his beautiful books, all of the songs and stories put to paper, _and Bofur cannot read any of them_.

“I never had much use for it, aye? Thick heads are for working, not thinking.” He musters a smile and picks up his plate. “Right, I’ll just—”

“I could teach you,” Bilbo says. “If— if you wish it.”

Bofur sits back down. “Do you think I could?” he asks at last, his voice tiny and hopeful. “Read and write like you?”

“I’m sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literacy, according to Tolkien, is a luxury few in Middle-earth can afford, so it's likely Bofur cannot read or write much, if at all. Luckily, Mr Baggins is up for another journey. <3


	2. Chapter 2

Teaching Bofur to read is a much more frustrating business than Bilbo imagined.

The dwarf recognises the handful of words he knows as a whole; aside from a few remembered runes, he has never learnt individual letters. They spend hours poring over books, yet seem to progress no faster than one of the striped slugs in their garden, for Bofur is baffled by similar letters no matter how long he works.

But Bofur is very much a dwarf. Though he ends each day bowed in defeat over a page, he sets to with cheerful persistence the next morning. Bilbo cannot be vexed with him. If Dwarven determination has failed, perhaps it is time for Hobbitish ingenuity.

First, he writes out a primer, taming his scrawl into the most distinct lettering he can find in his books, and adds several decorative marks to serve as reminders while Bofur is learning. His dwarf is delighted by this simple aid; he soon memorises the characters’ order so that he can refer to it on his own.

Armed with his primer, Bofur is no longer confined to the kitchen table. Bilbo leads him out into the vernant countryside for long walks and picnics, and traces the names of the flowers across his palms. They lie side by side in the shade to sound out conversations until neither can be serious.

Bilbo tries rewarding Bofur’s successes with kisses; although this proves more of a distraction than anything else, it doesn’t stop him from doing it.

It comes together all at once when Bofur picks through his first sentence.

* * *

Bilbo, who could read almost before he could walk, has never known the wonder of unlocking the written word; through his dwarf’s eyes, he sees the joy of it as though it is his own. Bofur reads everything in sight, and Bilbo eagerly follows him on each new adventure.

Bofur shows a marked preference for things that Bilbo writes. Mostly because he cannot get anything done with a nosy dwarf leaning over his shoulder, Bilbo takes to hiding notes throughout the house — under pillows and plates, in pockets and boots, and, of course, between the pages of books.

If his handwriting remains neat and round, he hardly notices.

It is during one exceptionally dull teatime with a cousin that Bilbo discovers Bofur’s first note to him. It crinkles enticingly in his jacket pocket until his hostess insists he read it.

 _I hope you are not too bored,_ it says. _I will cheer you up when you come home. Do not think about that too much, or tea will be awkward._ Awkward is misspelt.

Bilbo smiles through his apologies and flies home as fast as his furry feet will carry him.

* * *

They post their first letter to Bombur with a caravan of traders bound for Erebor. The envelope is nearly bursting with pages of Bofur’s humour and happiness. Bilbo has never felt more proud.

They send three more before the first reply arrives, months later. Bilbo dashes into the house with it, to where Bofur, predictably, has his nose in a book.

The picture is so charming that he cannot resist planting a kiss atop his dwarf’s wooly head. “Bombur’s letter has come.”

“Stop that,” Bofur says absently, “I’m reading.”

Bilbo laughs and scurries away to wait while it sinks in.

* * *

“Go on, you’re almost through,” Bilbo coaxes with a wicked grin. It is unnecessarily cruel, but nevertheless amusing, to watch Bofur struggle through his list of problem words whilst distracted.

“I can’t—” Here Bofur swats him in the face with the paper. “— _concentrate_ with you jigging away like that!”

Bilbo strokes his belly with no sympathy at all. “Try.”

Not two words later, Bofur growls and flings the list aside.

* * *

Bilbo separates the last egg and sets the whites aside to beat later. “Will we need the yolks for anything?” he asks before popping a leftover strawberry into his mouth.

Bofur glances over Gammer Proudfoot’s recipes. “Only the pie, if…” He rounds the table, because his beseeching eyes are most deadly at close range. “If you’ve changed your mind yet?”

“Oh, all right,” Bilbo grumbles, and accepts a grateful kiss before his dwarf scampers off to the pantry for the ingredients. The bowl of strawberries goes with him.

* * *

One rainy evening, Bofur comes to Bilbo with the packet of his letters. They curl up before the fire, where Bofur unfolds, for the first time, the hopeful days and lonely nights caught between ink and page.

They resolve to never be parted again.

* * *

Bofur’s hair falls like night around them as he traces lazy love songs upon Bilbo’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though not quite in the style of the first part, this is the story that wanted to be told. =)


End file.
